Dr. Matthias Corvus's Arc

Chapter 5 of 8

The pounding came again. Matthias set the pinch of herbs back in its packet. He looked at the crock on the bench, at the flask beside it, at the door shaking on its hinges. If he brewed here now, with guards at the front and his hands shaking from the run, he would rush the measures. A rushed dose would reach forty beds in the plague ward. He had promised Mercy Sweetwell those beds first. A bad dose would kill them faster than the plague. He wrapped the crock in his cloak. He took the flask, the herbs, and the packet of dried root from the shelf above the bench. The shelf held Silas's neat rows of jars and bundles, none of it his to take. He left it alone. He went out the back. The alley was empty. He kept the crock against his chest and moved toward the edge of town, where the houses thinned and the fields began. He needed a clean bench, still air, and no one at his back. He needed a place no guard would think to look. He found the field by the low stone wall. Rows of orange pumpkins sat fat among tangled vines. At the far end stood a scarecrow on a pole, hat tipped low. Matthias climbed the wall and set the crock down between two pumpkins. The scarecrow stepped off the pole. "This is my patch," the scarecrow said. Short. Flat. He walked closer through the vines. Straw showed at his sleeves. His stitched mouth did not move when he spoke. "What are you doing." "Brewing medicine," Matthias said. "The Council is looking for me. I need one hour. Nobody comes near the plague ward if I get this wrong." Scyther looked at the crock. He looked at Matthias's hands. "Who dies if you rush." "Forty in the ward. A nurse named Mercy. Every bed I promised." Scyther was quiet. Then he pointed to a flat stone by the wall. "Work there. Wind's steady. I'll watch the road." Matthias set the crock on the stone. He built a small fire from vine and dry wood. He measured each pinch twice. He counted under his breath the way Silas had taught him. The clay held the heat even. No metal touched the brew. When the color turned from brown to a pale, clear green, he pulled it off the flame. He filled six vials. He corked them. He waited for the shake in his hands to stop, then he drank a swallow himself. Bitter. Clean. No burn. Scyther came back through the vines. "Two riders on the road. Council colors. Going the other way." "They'll circle back." "Then go. The ward. Now." Matthias wrapped the vials in cloth. He had a cure. He had one hour to reach forty beds before the guards found the field.